


Tis customary as we part

by middlemarch



Category: Mercy Street (TV)
Genre: Blessing, Christmas, F/M, Family, Traditions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-20
Updated: 2016-12-20
Packaged: 2018-09-10 15:47:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 540
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8923081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/middlemarch/pseuds/middlemarch
Summary: It wasn't unusual to feel melancholy at the end of such a day, she knew that.





	

Christmas was nearly over. The men and boys were all snug in their beds, courtesy of a shipment of blankets lately arrived from Washington City; the woolen coverlets were drab grey and blue, not the warm crimson or vibrant green Mary would have preferred, but the men were comfortable for once and she’d been able to make enough mulled wine for every one at Mansion House to have one glass to toast the holiday. The other nurses and officers had retreated to their rooms and everyone had looked the other way when Nurse Hastings giggled as Dr. Hale put a arm around her waist and they hurried from the parlor together. Now Mary stood before her own bedroom door with Jedediah beside her, her hands clasped in front of her. He would bid her good-night and walk away and it would be done, the day, all its bright joy in such a dark time, and she would be left with a lonely bed, the moon, memories as poignant and painful as her dreams. She looked up at him, so handsome and solemn, the blue of his uniform nearly black in the half-light of lanterns a floor away.

“God bless you and keep you, Mary,” he said and taking her face lightly in his hands, he gravely kissed her forehead, then stepped back. He had never done so before, not any of the nights they were the last two left alone.

“What, why did you do that?” she asked before she could stop herself, much as it had seemed he had acted a moment ago. His eyes were shadowed.

“I beg your pardon, I—that is how we, the family, said goodnight on Christmas, growing up. My parents, that is the only time I can recall my father kissing me, as a child,” he said. He appeared to be as surprised as she had been by his gesture. But she was also confused and dismayed—to be kissed goodnight like a child? She had misunderstood everything then, if he saw her thus.

“Your regard for me, then, is paternal?” she replied, willing herself to ask, to know the truth at least. The moon had seen her weep before and made an untroubled companion to anguish.

“No, no! You can’t think that, I don’t know what I was thinking, only that you are so dear,” he said, breaking off before he could say something else, she thought. Her relief made her daring.

“How did your father say goodnight to your mother? On Christmas,” she asked. He laughed, a little choking laugh, and then paused.

“You know, I can hardly remember. Perhaps I was too tired from the day’s festivities...I think though, I recall them once, when I think they thought we had all gone to bed and I’d snuck back to retrieve some toy, I saw him do this,” he said and leaned in to touch his mouth softly against hers, a kiss like the mulled wine, that promised warmth after the intoxication passed, and then pressed his cheek against hers.

“Oh, Mary, merry Christmas…my dearest,” he said, very low. She closed her eyes and prayed she would dream of this, the night through, the last gift and the best.

**Author's Note:**

> This was for the prompt "Christmas traditions." I decided to make one up and then play with it. The title is from Emily Dickinson.


End file.
